Batman: One Rule
by MyDinosaurHands
Summary: Bruce Wayne has been Batman for 5 months now. Follow him on his journey, as he fights the criminals that prowl Gotham's streets, a police force that is unappreciative of Batman's vigilante actions, and most importantly, his inner demons.
1. Chapter 1

One** Rule, Chapter One:**

**Brutality**

The wind whistled its mournful tune, whilst carrying the sounds of several police sirens to the sound of a vigilante's ears. It carried no new information however, the vigilante was well aware of the happenings.

Batman sat perched atop Gotham General, virtually invisible in the night. Often he would sit atop this rooftop and others, ears and eyes open for crime, feeling like a dark god, a wrathful entity. On top of a rooftop, one could see anything. With a cape that stiffens upon command, one can fly almost anywhere. No other person has the knowledge or power that Batman does when he perches upon a rooftop.

Currently however, Batman was not glorying in these things. No, tonight Batman was calculating angles and measuring wind strength. According to his estimation, the shipping plant below him was 600 meters away. Most people might think Batman could just leap of whatever he wanted and begin soaring, but that isn't reality.

Reality is Batman estimating he needs to glide at a 75 degree angle in order to smash through one of the windows on the third floor of the shipping company. Reality is Batman planning compensation for 4-6 mph westward winds. Reality is Batman's breathing and pulse quickening as he finishes his calculations. _Perhaps a second calculation, to be sure.. No, too many lives are at risk. No time to waste.._

Sucking in a deep breath, Batman lept off the Gotham General roof. Adrenaline surged through his veins as his cape stiffened upon transference of electrical current from his gloves. He could feel the air fill his cape, felt the wind rush over his face, through all the nooks and crannies of his suit. Despite the importance and gravity his actions would have in moments to come, he could not help but let his heart soar. It was such an intoxicating feeling, so liberating to simply leap off a building and fly! Fly! Wherever he needed to. Pure freedom, pure power.

_Focus._ Batman stuffed the pleasant feelings somewhere, deep, deep down. _You're hurtling through the sky at approximately 150 mph, and you need to fly through a window! _Straining his watering eyes, Batman attempted to sight his target. _There, third window on the left, you're on target._

Suddenly, the wind picked up! The westward breeze turned into a westward gust. _Fuck fuck fuck fuck..._ He was off trajectory and he knew it. He was losing altitude too fast. He tried to pull up, but that's one thing a man flying with a cape has trouble doing. _New plan, focus! _He had lost his 75 degree angle, right now he was on course to.. _slam into the side of the building. Can't pull up, shoot lower, second story. _Batman tilted himself slightly lower, aiming now for a second story window.

At about 150 mph the Batman let his cape go limp and barreled through the second story window, instinctively going into a roll to disperse the incredible force at which his body impacted. Before he even stood up, he had retrieved and pulled the pin on a smoke grenade, letting it tumble to the wooden floor. _Observe, observe! _Desks, everywhere. He ducked behind one. Voices. Scarecrows' thugs, of course. There was a reason he had wanted to start out on the third floor. _Pay attention, listen! _

"What the hell was that?" one thug stammered, terrified. Another, "Is-is that smoke?" He was met with mutterings and curses. One confident voice cut above the rest, "It was the Batman you idiots. Everyone spread out and look for that fucker. There's a bounty on the guy's head!" _That voice is familiar.._

The room was large, with numerous desks and hiding spots in it, but Batman's cautionary smoke bomb brought all the thugs around that location. None of the thugs wanted to enter into the smoke and tangle with Batman. One whispered, "What-what do we do?" Again, the confident one spoke. "Shoot into the smoke!" Batman's eyes widened as 15 assorted combat weapons cocked. _Ceiling, now! _Without time to look for a good spot, Batman's hand went to his grapple gun hanging at his side, sending out a sharp claw to find a place in the ceiling.

Batman had only ascended ten of the twenty feet to the surface of the ceiling when the firing started. He could feel the air below him grow hot with flying lead and stinging pellets. The sound was unbearable. For several moments Batman was so stunned by the thunderous roar he could not think, could not process anything but the noise, _so loud!_

As the shots slowed down Batman began to assess his predicament. The claw had fired into the ceiling alright, and as held onto the grapple gun, he realized the little chunk of ceiling from which he hung would not hold permanently. The shots had ceased.

"Reload!"

_Act. Now. _Batman dropped silently to the ground, activating his sonar vision as he did so. Through the still thick smoke he saw 15 men groping for new magazines to shove into their rifles. _Out of the smoke. Fucking move. _Batman deftly leapt over a desk to his immediate right, and crawled under the next as he left the proximity of the smoke grenade's cloud. He was about to crawl out from under the desk when the next round of deafening thunder began.

This time Batman resisted the sound, bringing his legs in position to pounce, hand reaching into his utility belt. _Right side, largest compartment, grab two. Don't hesitate, throw now! _

Before the gunfire had ceased, two flashbangs had landed amidst the pack of thugs. The thunder stopped. Guns clicked, empty.

A new thunder came, this one blinding. Blinding to all except Batman, who was under a desk, eyes firmly closed shut. As the men screamed, Batman performed his next moves without conscious thought, guided only by instinct. The black-clad warrior emerged from his hiding spot, sprinting towards the thugs. _Do not think do not think do not think..._

Batman lept over a desk separating him from the thugs, landing in their ranks. All were still blind. He began raining fists down on the heads of the thugs. The first five to go had no chance. Others began regaining their sight, only to find the monstrous warrior upon them, delivering forceful blows upon them. Only 7 men regained their sight in time to see..

Nothing. He had disappeared.

"Where-where'd h-" the man was cut off as he was yanked by the neck over and onto the other side of a desk, where a fist left him unconscious. The two thugs who had managed to reload their guns perforated the desk, sending papers and splintered wood everywhere.

_That's right.. waste that ammo.._

A lamp flew across the room, unseen in the darkness. It landed with a startling crash, a crash that was quickly dwarfed in comparison by three automatic rifles unloading in the direction of the sound. _Now, while they aren't looking! _The grapple gun's barrel issued forth from the darkness, it's owner crouched to the left of a desk, _fire!_

The sharp hook buried itself in the leg of one of the two thugs who had been previously expending their ammo. Batman clicked the retract button and the man began sliding across the floor. His screams went unheard amongst the gunfire. So did the SMACK of Batman's fist in his face.

_Move, change position.._

"Hold on, where the hell is Stikes?" Another thug added to the panic, "Fuck, fuck, I'm all out!" The confident one tried to keep them in line, "Stay calm, we'll take him with our fists, we need to stick together!" The thugs, guns empty, drew closer to one another, scanning the dark room for Batman. The silence might've unnerved the thugs, if their ears weren't ringing from the past few minutes' almost continuous gunfire. They moved slowly from desk to desk.

Merely feet away Batman crouched under a desk, wrapped in his cape, virtually invisible. He resisted the urge to take all five of them hand-to-hand. He knew he could win, he knew he had nothing to prove, taking five scared thugs proved nothing.

_Be smart.. one will break.._

Minutes passed. The thugs slowly walked together, desk to desk, tense. Batman followed, keeping one desk between him and the thugs at all times. "Kenny," _that's the voice! Kenny Peterson.. _"yo Kenny can't we just go back downstairs, ya know, get back-up n shit?"

_The words are logical.. but.. _

"Kenny! Please!"

_All__ I hear is a scared man.. time to put the pressure on.._

"Shut it Josh! You think Scarecrow wants us to come back and say we ran away from the Bat?!"

Suddenly, a voice, like the voice of God seemed to fill the room. "He probably doesn't. But I advise you run anyways."

"Don't listen to him boys," Kenny raised his voice, shouting out to the Batman, "Bat ain't ever killed nobody!"

The silence stretched on, "True. But you'll wish you were dead."

That was too much for Josh. "Fuck it, I'm outta here!" The thugs yelled at him to come back, but nothing on earth would keep Josh in this dark room, with this dark predator, any longer.

Josh's scared, sobbing breathing, his clumsy footsteps, his comrades yelling-all were cut off as a dark silhouette streaked across the room, tackling Josh into the darkness. The remaining four thugs were frozen in shock.

Behind a desk, Josh was enveloped by Batman's cape, and his being was enveloped by that voice. "I don't want to catch you out here again Josh, ever." Josh felt two hands clamp down on his left arm. "What are you-no no noOOOOOOOOO! AHHHHHHH-" Batman left the broken man on the ground, his cries echoed off the walls, and into the ears of the four remaining thugs.

_Now is the time. _

The Batman burst from the shadows, bringing two fists balled together into the back of one thug's head. A powerful kick sent another thug into the desk behind him, back cracking upon impact. Both men dropped at the same time. Kenny Peterson spun, throwing an aggressive haymaker which Batman ducked. He countered with a flat palm strike to the bottom of Kenny's jaw, sending him stumbling to the ground. The last man kicked Batman in the side, sending him sprawling onto his side. Batman's cape got in his face. Utterly exposed, he threw up his arms in a defensive position. No blows came. _What? _He realized the man was running away, headed downstairs, to the Scarecrow and the rest of his men.

_That's fine. Let him infect the rest of Scarecrow's men with fear. _Batman stood, becoming aware of two things. The man whose arm he had viciously broken was still moaning, and Kenny Peterson wasn't unconscious.

_Time to make good on my promise..._

"Evening Kenny. I thought you would've learned playing lieutenant for drug dealers was a bad occupation." Kenny, who had previously been slowly stirring, now kicked his legs rapidly, trying to get away from the thing in black. "No no no no! Get the fu-ugh!" Batman's high-grip boot sole pressed up against Kenny's face. "A little more pressure, and you'll be needing a seriously good plastic surgeon Ken. But I'm sure you've been making good money in this business.. so.."

"No! NOOOO! Please Bats, I swear, swear to GOD you'll never see me out here again," he began to sob, "Please! Please don't crush my f-"

"Shut up. You told me that last time," Batman's voice turned to a growl, "This won't be like last time.."

"No no pl-please! I-" His words degraded to muffled, panicked screams as the boot smothered his mouth. Batman heard the popping and cracking sounds.. a part of him said to stop.

**_No._**


	2. Chapter Two: Promise

**Chapter Two:**

**Promise**

Wayne Manor was under assault, by millions of little droplets of water. Their persistent bombardment made itself known all across the turreted rooftops, and the long, Victorian window panes.

The assault went virtually unnoticed by the occupant of Wayne Manor, occupied as he was with his thoughts.

Alfred Pennyworth sat straight backed in a red cushioned seat, in an otherwise furnitureless room.

Ever since Bruce Wayne was presumed dead during his 12 year hiatus from Gotham, the house had been pretty empty. With all members of the Wayne family dead, most of the furniture was given to charity, per the the request of the inheritor of Thomas and Martha Wayne's will: Alfred Pennyworth.

Alfred still experienced occasional regret at virtually emptying the house. Alfred had been quite lonely those 12 years, and while furniture hardly makes for good conversation, at least things didn't feel so empty with numerous couches to fill numerous rooms.

True, Master Wayne had returned, about a year ago, but Bruce Wayne wasn't very interested in being Bruce Wayne, nor was he interested in getting new furniture, and nor was he very interested in Alfred.

_He's not interested in anything, he's on a god-damn suicide mission.._

Alfred sighed, whilst picking the remote up from his lap. With little interest, he flipped through the channels. He was growing tired. He knew he should turn in, get some rest. He sighed again, in dread of moving his old body.

"We're coming to you live, outside a recently abandoned shipping warehouse, where police have set up a perimeter-"

Alfred fell back down in his chair, heart beating faster. _Is he in there?_

"-reports of prolonged amounts of gunfire on the second floor are streaming in, we have yet to receive a statement from the police. Is this second story gunfire evidence of the Masked Vigilante's presence? Stay with Gotham News Team 8 for further details."

"Damnit Bruce!"

Alfred knew Bruce was skilled, if he wasn't he wouldn't have have survived 5 months of fighting criminals with his fists, but he still couldn't shake the vision of Bruce's body shuddering from the impact of bullets, body crumpled on the ground, laying in a pool of his own-

_Stop that! He'll be fine!_

Alfred could not stay seated, not now. He paced up and down the dark, empty room, now acutely aware of everything, the rain pattering against the windows, his own heartbeats, and the sound of floorboards beneath his feet creaking.

"In case you're just joining us police have-"

_Rubbish. Come on Alfred, make yourself useful. Prepare. _

Eager to keep his mind off of the image of Bruce laying dead, Alfred busied himself with gathering medical supplies. The best he could scrounge up was a First Aid Kit from one of the panties.

_Hopefully it's not needed._

"This just in, we've received a report from the police that they did not send men into the second floor, and that the men inside are a part of a drug operation. The men inside have hostages-"

###

Miles away from one worried butler, Batman crouched on cold cement floor, next to moaning, bloody men. The man next to him, Kenny Peterson, was trying to curse at his assailant, but between the broken face and pool of blood in his mouth, little more than sputtering was the result.

Batman left him unacknowledged while he activated his sonar vision. He could see through the floor underneath his feet, to the first floor of the warehouse. The floor below was filled with parts to larger machines, trucks, crates, hostages, and at least 20 armed thugs, all of whom seemed to be looking in one direction. Following their line of sight, Batman knew they were looking at the stairwell to his left, the only way from the second floor to the first.

_Well that's not an option.._

Batman stood, surveying the room around him. The broken window, through which he had entered minutes ago, caught his eye.

He advanced forward, stepping over Kenny Peterson. Batman's feet crunched on the glass shards around the broken window. More glass crunched as one of the dark boots rested on the now windowless frame. Batman held himself with both hands on the wall inside the building as he peered his head out, surveying the drop down to the ground. Satisfied with the drop, he was about to release his hands' grip on the wall adjacent to the window frame when-

Blinding light! Batman cursed, pulling his cape over his eyes.

_Police floodlight? I didn't hear any chopper blades..._

"Batman, surrender now! You are interfering in a police operation!" barked the stern voice of Captain James Gordon.

Batman paused at the ledge, the wind picked up swiftly. His cape whipped behind him as he considered his options.

_Stairwell's the only other way down. If I had packed my-_

His thoughts were interrupted as chunks of brick exploded above his head. Before he could move something socked him in the abdomen, causing him to drop to his knees. Momentarily dazed, he remained in plain view, until something hot streaked quickly by his head.

_Move! Drop!_

Batman collapsed to the ground, shuffling hurriedly away from the window, trying to suck in air. He couldn't.

The Batman lay with 15 broken men on the cold cement floor of a shipping warehouse, wrapped in his cape. Batman rolled over, onto his back, unable to groan in pain without air.

_Air! Please! Not like this.._

His panic slowed as he sucked in air, also sucking his cape into his mouth. As he regained his composure he brushed the cape off his face, lurching forward onto all fours.

_Breath.. breath.._

_Assess the damage. Where were you hit?_

Batman slowly stood. As he pulled himself upright, the point of impact made itself known.

_Lower ribs.. Kevlar held.._

Batman grunted..

_At least, I think.. check later, work to do._

Batman considered his options. The stairwell was almost certain death, and the window from which he had tried to exit was almost certain death as well, seeing as some of the cops down there were willing to shoot at him. His breathing had almost settled when he decided to try the windows on the opposite side of the building.

Moving quickly, yet quietly, he vaulted over desks, making sure not to trip on any of his victims' bodies. He reached a desk up against the other wall opposite the side from where he'd been fired upon. By the desk was a window.

Standing upon the desk, he forced an armored elbow through the glass without hesitation. He peered out his elbow-made hole to see the shards of glass fall about twenty feet into a narrow, dirty Gotham alleyway. Most importantly, this alley was free of cops.

_Perfect._

###

Miles away, in the mansion under assault, Alfred Pennyworth was remembering a promise.

One of the few promises he'd ever made, in fact.

Alfred Pennyworth never was a very sociable person. He had always felt more comfortable drawn in, with the company of his thoughts. If Alfred'd had any close friends throughout high school, they might've asked, why he decided to become a butler of all things.

After all, being a butler meant being around people, all the time. This hardy seemed to match Alfred's personality.

Alfred however, thought it would be perfect. Butlers were meant to be seen-seen cleaning up specifically-and not heard. At least, that was the usual experience. But upon entering the service of the Wayne family, he found this preconception to be wrong. At the Wayne Manor he found two delightful friends: Thomas and Martha Wayne.

Alfred had expected of them, what anyone would expect of millionaires. Stuck-up, nose held high, couldn't be bothered types. This couldn't be further from the truth. Thomas and Martha Wayne cared about who Alfred was. They actually looked up, asked him questions, about himself, when he brought them their dinner.

They asked him about his plans for his life. What's a nice young lad like you doing, slaving away for us? They'd tease. The more they asked him this, the more Alfred realized, this was his plan. He didn't want to move on to any new job. For once, he felt at home, he felt comfortable someplace besides in his own head. They became like parents to him.

As Alfred paced up and down the sorrowfully dark and empty Wayne Manor, he recalled a conversation that was the most important conversation Alfred had ever had. Every detail was vivid.

Summertime, years ago. Martha Wayne has just given birth, in one of the guest rooms of Wayne Manor. Alfred, hardly a mid-wife, had spent much of the time sitting in the living room adjacent, feeling out of place with his inaction.

Alfred heard a door down the hall open, followed by fast footsteps. "Alfred, Alfred it's a boy!" Thomas Wayne's face shone with nervous perspiration, but also the pride of parenthood. "Oh Master Wayne, that's wonderful, congratulations sir!" responded Alfred, genuinely happy for his friend, especially knowing of Thomas's wish for a boy.

"How is Martha sir?"

"Oh, she's doing great Al, you know her, too strong willed to let something like childbirth slow her down." Both men laughed heartily at that, louder than they probably should've, infused with the kind of joy that only comes on certain occasions that touch the heart profoundly.

Thomas stopped laughing first, quite abruptly in fact. For Alfred, that perhaps was the most vivid detail of that event.

"Alfred, I've been thinking about my child a lot-" Alfred wasn't really sure where he was going with this, "-and it's really had me thinking about quite a few things. I've spent.. hours just thinking about the future," Alfred realized something important was coming, as some of the joy left Thomas's face, with a more serious tone taking over, "and I can't begin to think of what would happen... if something were to happen to Martha and I."

The atmosphere in the room had grown heavy. Thomas looked Alfred in the eyes as he let that sink in.

"I know a lot of people Alfred. Most of them I don't trust. But you Alfred, I trust you. You're a good friend, to me and to Martha. And... we've both discussed it and, well if something happened to Martha and I, we want you to care for our boy Bruce."

Even as Alfred paced anxiously in the dark, shadowy halls of Wayne Manor years later, he remembered three things about the moments proceeding Thomas's words. The silence. The heat. His own breathing. He had been so stunned, and for what felt like minutes he couldn't find any words for a response.

As Alfred walked back into the deserted living room, illuminated by the glow of the TV, and as he saw the Batman on screen, illuminated by a flood light, bullets bouncing off the building.. watching him fall.. the butler in the mansion under assault repeated to himself his response to Thomas Wayne.

"I promise to take good care of him, Master Wayne."

**Alfred Pennyworth fell to his knees. As the first tears made their descent down his wrinkling face, he spoke his worst fear, "I've failed you."**


End file.
